


Sweet Tweak's

by indirectkissesiniceland



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bromance, F/M, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indirectkissesiniceland/pseuds/indirectkissesiniceland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tweek's family is in the coffee business, and Clyde's family recipe for lemon bars has no peer. It only makes sense that they'd open a coffee shop together. Add in a confident policewoman who swears by Tweek's dark roast and an eccentric astronomer who comes in for a lemon bar every afternoon, and it only makes sense that the coffee shop bros would set each other up, too.</p><p>Alternate title: Haaaaave you met Tweek?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You want to...what?" Tweek sputtered, looking up through the twitching fingers splayed across his face.

"Help you run the coffee shop," Clyde said. "Be bosses together. Be your partner, in a strictly business sense."

"There isn't even a coffee shop to run yet," Tweek said, sliding his fingers back to tangle in his hair. "My, ngh, parents were just talking about openingasecondlocation, geh, and..."

"Hey, dude, you don't have any plans for when we graduate, and neither do I! But you've got a built-in family business to fall back on, and I make the best desserts you've ever tasted." Tweek stifled a distressed grunt. "Come on, man, remember my mixed berry tarts from the Org Fair?"

"They were delicious," Tweek admitted.

"And my homemade banana bread from that football game we went to? And..." Clyde paused for effect. "My super secret family recipe for lemon bars."

"They're the best," Tweek said, pulling at his hair.

"Right?" Clyde lit up. "Dude, come on, this could be awesome! We'll be brew bros. Or breakfast bros, since you don't trust me to serve up a cup."

"You don't, ngh, doitright!"

"You'll make all the coffee, and I'll make the pastries to go with 'em. It'll be sweet." The more he talked, the more Clyde liked the idea. "Hey, instead of keeping 'Tweak Bros. Coffeehouse,' we can call ourselves 'Sweet Tweak's.' Get it? Because it's sweets and Tweak Bros. coffee, but, like, punny. Cheeky, if you will."

"Oh, Jesus, Clyde, we're not calling our coffee shop 'Sweet Tweak's.'"

Clyde took Tweek's using the term 'our coffee shop' as a victory nonetheless.

Mr. Tweak, of course, loved the name. "You know," he said, "in our little hometown community, the name 'Tweak Bros.' means something. We're a local business, a familiar name...like marshmallows toasting over the fire in summertime dusk. Our humble roots make our shop the kind of business people can trust, the way you trust a flower to bloom in early spring even after a harsh winter."

" _Gahh,_ Dad, you're notmakinganysense, ngh!"

"But in the city," Mr. Tweak continued, "independent coffee shops are the trendy locale of students and young professionals. Artists. Musicians. It's a whole other untapped resource for our family blend. A clever rebranding could make all the difference in a second location's success."

Clyde and Tweek graduated in May. Sweet Tweak's opened in July, the hottest month of the year. Clyde lamented the timing as he wiped sweat from his eyes taking cookies out of the oven. He and Tweek agreed that lemon bars would be their signature sweet, with a few staples like chocolate chip cookies and scones, plus seasonal treats. Clyde decided no-bake was the way to go for the summer, making marshmallow crisp bars and banana pudding cups, and also convinced Tweek that cranking the air conditioning would compel people to buy hot coffee. For his part, Tweek adapted like a champ by whipping up different flavored iced coffees and drizzling chocolate flowers and caramel fireworks into the whipped cream.

"Dude, how do you do that?" Clyde asked, marveling over his shoulder. "It's almost too pretty to eat."

"I don't know, man, I've been doing it since I was a kid! Geh!"

Business started off okay. Denver had plenty of coffee shops, and the fact that they were three blocks away from a Harbucks didn't help. Tweek muttered to himself often that he bet his father picked this property on purpose because of the proximity. Mr. Tweak kept suggesting passive-aggressive advertising tactics about supporting local family business, which Tweek pointedly ignored. Their friend Token had been a marketing major, and even though he had full-time work for a sporting goods company, he gave Tweek and Clyde advice from time to time.

"Indies in the city have a built-in community," Token said. "You're going to get the crowd that brings eco-friendly bags to the farmer's market and rides their bicycles to work, plus the students and artsy types who want an eclectic space to work in."

"We can do slam poetry nights the first Tuesday of every month," Tweek suggested. Token gave him a thumbs up.

"And we can order bags and water bottles or mugs, you know, made of eco-friendly whatever," Clyde said. Token snorted, but he gave a second thumbs up for that idea.

"Show 'em you're hip and happening, and the indie coffee shop-goers of Denver will show you the love," Token said.

After their first month, Clyde was delighted to find that they had regulars. He made a point of remembering as many names as possible, and even a few usual orders. A lot of those people brought their friends the next time around. 

"It's the lemon bars," Tweek said, flashing a rare wide smile. His teeth were a little crooked, but then, his smile was a little crooked, and he jittered so much it was kind of hard to tell anyway. "We sell more of those than anything else."

"It's the coffee, dude," Clyde countered. "Coffee's the heart of a coffee shop. And, like, don't take this the wrong way, but whatever you're making is hella better than your dad's coffee in South Park."

Tweek squeaked in what was probably alarm but Clyde chose to interpret as delight. "Oh, Jesus, dude, I'm not trying to usurpmydad or anything! I just used to like trying different blends and things growing up. Experimenting, you know?" Tweek's shoulders hunched while a tiny smile played on his lips. "Dad wouldn't tell me the secret ingredient for the house blend, anyway. But people seem to like my blends just fine."

"Hey, dude, keep brewin' what you're brewin', you know what I'm saying?"

At the end of August, business was regular and maybe even above average enough that they had to hire extra hands, a couple of guys about their age. Stan Marsh had been a customer of Clyde's for a while and gushed about the pastries so much that Clyde was convinced people were buying more of them. Stan was privy to every recipe except the lemon bars. Not even Tweek knew Clyde's mom's secret recipe. The only people Clyde would ever tell were his own descendants.

Stan's friend Kyle Broflovski worked the coffee side with Tweek. Clyde was convinced the guy had an eidetic memory, because on Kyle's first day he ended up with a group of students who ordered seven different non-fat, soy, double-shot, dairy-free, extra caramel, shaken-not-stirred monstrosities, and he whipped up all of them without writing anything down or making a single mistake. Clyde wondered if Kyle was the kind of guy girls thought was cute, because a gaggle of college girls who had been weekly regulars before were suddenly daily regulars who pretended to be undecided when Tweek's register was open but clambered over each other to get to Kyle as soon as he was free.

In September, Clyde and Tweek's friend Jimmy came back to the city for the new semester. He'd spent a gap year abroad and was graduating the next spring. Clyde invited him by the shop after hours one weeknight so he and Tweek could give Jimmy a proper tour. His crutches clicked against the tile floor as he looked around their successful little shop.

"I should write about you for the Clarion," Jimmy said. He'd risen to editor-in-chief of their college's undergraduate newspaper. "Especially since you're alumni."

"Ooh!" Clyde grinned. "Hear that, Tweek? We're front page news."

"Oh, Jesus, that's  _way_ too much pressure...! Gah!"

They didn't make the front page, but Jimmy penned a nice write-up that Clyde immediately framed and hung on the wall behind their register. Sure enough, the DU hoodies coming through the door increased after the article ran.

When October rolled around, Clyde's face hurt constantly from all the smiling. Not fake smiling, but real smiling. He loved working with his friends and having some control over his life, and seeing people light up over his baked goods was such an awesome feeling he couldn't believe he got paid for it. Tweek was starting to unwind a little more, too. Maybe he was finally accepting that the family business wasn't so bad. In fact, it was pretty dang good. And about to get better.

7:04 a.m., October 10th, she came in.

Clyde was halfway to handing a customer his butter croissant when a young policewoman walked through the door. She took off her cap and tucked it under one arm, smoothing back invisible stray hairs from the bun wound tightly at the base of her neck. She glided past the pastry counter and up to Tweek's register to order a medium dark roast with room for milk. Somewhere, Clyde was aware that his customer had tugged his croissant from Clyde's hand and that another was saying, "Um, excuse me?" to him. Yet at the same time, it was hard to imagine a single other person existing in the whole coffee shop. Maybe even in all of Denver.

"Thank you," the policewoman said with a smile when Tweek handed her her coffee. Clyde swore that with the early morning sun peeking through the windows, the officer's golden hair glowed with some holy light. When she floated back out the door, Clyde's head turned to follow her.

Someone tapped his shoulder. "Dude, you okay?" Stan must have taken care of the customers in line, because when Clyde came back down to earth, he was the only other person around.

"I am fantastic," Clyde said.

And about to get more fantastic. She became a regular.

Every morning for the next two weeks, between 6:50 and 7:10, Officer Goddess graced their coffee shop with her heart-stopping smile and syrup-sweet voice. Clyde was getting a little better at multitasking and not abandoning Stan during the morning rush, but he was also composing poetry in his mind. Haiku, mostly.

_Brown eyes like coffee / Golden hair like lemon bars / I've fallen in love_

After two weeks of praying that she'd want something to eat with her coffee, Clyde decided to take matters into his own hands. He asked Tweek if he wanted to swap registers for a day.

"Gah! What, why?"

"Because it'll be fun, man! Aren't you curious what life is like on the pastry side?"

"You can't even brew a basic cup of coffee, dude! No offense, but I don't trust you with the tougher orders!"

"Kyle can help me."

Tweek gave him an exasperated look, then pointed at the coffee urns behind them. "Which one is medium roast, which one is dark, and which one is decaf?"

"What?"

"One of those is the house blend, one is a Colombian dark roast, and one is decaf. Which is which?"

Clyde looked over at the three identical urns. "Wait, you don't label them?"

"Get away frommycoffee, _ack_!"

The next day, during the slow lunch-ish period between the morning coffee and breakfast rush and the afternoon coffee and a snack crew, Clyde came clean. "Look, Tweek, that cop who comes in every morning? She's, like, my dream girl. And she never orders pastry, just coffee." Clyde spread his arms and did his best to hit Tweek with his most sympathetic puppy dog eyes. "Help me out, dude."

"You...want me to setyouup?" Tweek shivered. Clyde nodded emphatically. "I-I don't know, dude. Ngh, I'm not very smooth with this kind of thing, and I don't want to scare off a good, geh, customer."

"All you have to do is invite me into the conversation," Clyde said. "Ask me over to ring her up while you make the coffee. Just give me an excuse to talk to her, man!" He paused. "Do you know her name?" Her name tag was always too far away for Clyde to read.

"Bebe," Tweek said.

"Bebe," Clyde repeated, trying it out. He liked it. It rolled right off the tongue. Kind of cute, but not in a little kid way. More sophisticated. French-y.

Tweek still looked like he was on the fence, so Clyde clapped both hands on his shoulders. "Dude, I will owe you so hard, okay? You do me this solid, and I'll return the favor any day of the week."

"We didn't open this shop to, ngh, hit on our customers," Tweek mumbled.

"And we're not," Clyde said quickly. "I told you, dude, Bebe's my dream girl. This isn't going to be a regular thing." He gave Tweek's shoulders an affection shake. "If your version of literal perfection walks through those doors looking for lemon bars, you just, like, give me a signal, and I'll make it happen."

 _That_ caught Tweek's attention. His tremors slowed, and his eyes quit darting around so much to lock on Clyde's. Hmm. Interesting.

"Has literal perfection walked into our shop?" Clyde asked, completely serious. Tweek squawked. "Dude. Tweek. Please. Introduce me to Bebe, and I'll hook you up. I promise. Okay?"

Tweek fidgeted. Chewed his bottom lip hard enough that Clyde worried he'd break skin. Licked his cracked lips, swallowed. Swallowed again. "Geh...! O...Okay, I'll help."

Clyde whooped and let go of Tweek's shoulders for a second so he could clap his hands down on them again. "Tweek, you are the best brew bro on the  _planet_! I love you, man!"

"Jesus, Clyde, please stop yelling!"

The grin that split Clyde's face couldn't be tamed. After a few more seconds of celebratory shaking, he let go of Tweek and stuffed his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Oh, and don't forget to point out who you want me to talk you up to."

Tweek hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head towards the back of the shop. Clyde rocked back to flat feet and leaned forward. The customer was here now? Dang. Perfect timing. He tilted his body to look around Tweek towards the tables at the back of the coffee shop. It was empty save for one customer, sitting by himself at a table for two with an open Macbook and a lemon bar laid out in front of him.

Clyde's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Not because it was a dude, but because, yeah, he knew this customer. Tall pretty boy—dark hair, hella blue eyes—but presumably dressed himself in the dark, because he wore at least four different shades of blue at a time and nothing coordinated. He showed up a couple times a week for a lemon bar and sat in the back typing angrily on his laptop. His expression never changed, no smiles, not even really frowns. Just flat. Totally stone-faced. Clyde bet he was a spy. And he was so regular in what he ordered that Clyde no longer heard him speak. He'd see the guy come in, guess, "Lemon bar?" and receive a silent nod and payment in small bills. He didn't even know the dude's name.

But if Stoic McAntisocialpants was Tweek's cup of tea—or coffee, Clyde supposed—then Clyde was more than willing to step up to the challenge. He straightened and met Tweek's red face.

"No problemo, my man," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Clyde wasn't sure why Tweek didn't think he was smooth enough to set up a friend. He was a natural actor. The next morning when Bebe came in, Tweek whipped himself up into a damn convincing tailspin over some invented coffee crisis.

"Clyde, can you ring her up?" he called, twitching worse than usual. With a quick salute, Clyde scuttled over to his register. Bebe was even prettier up close, with golden lashes that haloed her dark eyes and a dimple that appeared in just her left cheek when she smiled at Clyde. 

"Medium dark roast," she said. Clyde plugged it in and gave her the cost. She pulled her wallet out of an inner pocket in her jacket and popped it open.

Inhaling through his nose, Clyde prepped himself. This was it. His big moment to talk to his dream girl, thanks to his best brew bro. When Bebe looked up, a worn five dollar bill in her hand, he flashed her a charming smile. "Do you like poetry?"

Bebe quirked her head to the side. "Poetry?"

"Like haiku," Clyde said, plucking the bill she held out from her fingers.

Delicately brushing a stray hair behind her ear, Bebe smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I do like haiku, actually."

He put one hand over his heart and extended the other. "Thank you for coming—To Sweet Tweek's for your coffee—We appreciate...it." Clyde paused, then counted his syllables. "Aw, dangit!"

Bebe giggled, her hand flying to her mouth when the little laugh escalated into something louder. Despite his insides gurgling down into a puddle of self-loathing, Clyde still marveled at her laugh. The giggle was pretty enough, but her actual laugh was kind of goofy, a little too nasally and a little too deep, which was even better.

"That last syllable—Where you must finish the poem—Is the hardest one," she said sagely. Clyde counted off her syllables, too, even though he knew she hadn't fouled up. When he flashed her a thumbs-up, Bebe laughed. "That was pretty bad, man."

Handing her back her change, Clyde offered up his wrists. "Am I under arrest for bad poetry?"

A snort found its way into Bebe's laugh, making it even uglier. Clyde's heart fluttered. "Well, bad poetry's a pretty serious offense, but I'll let you off with a warning. Just this once."

Tweek returned with Bebe's coffee, and she said goodbye to both of them. Clyde sighed watching her head out the door. Just as he was turning back towards the pastry end of the counter, Tweek's hand came down heavily on his shoulder.

"I changed my mind," he said. "I don't want you talking to that guy for me."

Eyebrows shooting up, Clyde asked why. "You're not wimping out, are you, dude?"

"No, but...if that," Tweek gestured at his register, " _ngh_ , is your 'game,' I don't want you inflicting it on my dating, too."

"What? Dude, no, I'm totally in. She thinks I'm funny." At Tweek's withering look, Clyde put his hands on his hips. "I made a promise, dude. A brew bro promise. A—"

"Don't you dare say you made a, geh, 'bromise.'"

That afternoon, like clockwork, Tall Dark and Apparently Tweek's Type walked through the door, dressed in a fetching array of mismatched blues as always. Clyde put his hands in his pockets and smiled as the lone one-thirty customer loped up to the pastry counter. A few seconds of silence transpired between them.

"Hey, dude, what can I get'cha?" Clyde asked brightly. The Target blinked at him in slow motion.

"One lemon bar," he said. Almost as an afterthought, he tacked on, "Please." His voice was deep and nasally, and he didn't have much inflection. Kind of the opposite of Tweek, whose voice kind of sounded like it was going through a blender. An old blender whose shrieks could be heard from a different room.

"You got it." Clyde grabbed the lemon bar tongs and scooped the Target's usual into a parchment paper pastry bag. He snagged a permanent marker and pointedly ignored the fact that the Target was already holding out the exact change. "Who's it for?"

"...Me," came the flat reply.

"No, dude, like, your name." Clyde tried to raise one eyebrow when he looked up at Craig, then remembered that he couldn't do it. He'd just seen Kyle do it and thought it was cool. "You're my regular, man, I should know who you are."

The guy had blue eyes that were nearly black and thick blocks for eyebrows that tilted like a scale between annoyance and confusion. "Craig," he said finally.

"With a 'C'?" Clyde asked. Craig just stared at him. Clyde hastily scribbled it down and exchanged the pastry bag for Craig's money. "Thanks, dude!" 

Craig nodded and loped off to a table near the back of the shop. Tweek's hand stuttered up almost to his mouth then dropped back down, and Clyde thought back to Tweek's nail-biting phase that kicked in around junior year of high school and petered off when they moved into the dorms freshman year. He was also watching Craig pretty carefully. Now Clyde was even more offended at Tweek's doubt; Clyde totally had game, and Tweek's odds of dating a robot were hella better with Clyde in his corner.

"He's kind of an odd duck, huh?" Stan muttered to Clyde, who glanced over his shoulder at him. "That customer." They both watched as Craig laid his lemon bar on the side of his table with a weird amount of grace, then pulled out his laptop. As soon as it was down on his table and opened, Craig was off, typing a mile a minute.

"He never smiles," Clyde whispered back. He crossed his arms, knowing that Stan would perceive this conversation didn't go past them. Stan was good at getting stuff like that.

"He's kind of scary," Stan agreed.

"You know, you really shouldn't gossip," Kyle said primly, passing by them to get to the supply of coffee cups. He opened a bag and took out a stack of cups to restock the coffee area. "Relax," he said to Stan, whose eyes were drowning in guilt. "Nobody can hear you, it's not like you aren't whispering as quietly as you think. Just try not to gossip on the clock, okay?"

Normally Clyde would be chagrined to be chastised by someone who was technically his employee, but Kyle was the closest thing the Sweet Tweak's team had to a mom, and also his proficiency in everything he did was terrifying. Clyde apologized instead.

Twenty minutes later, the coffee shop was still deader than dead; business wouldn't pick up again until three o'clock or so when the student crowd came in droves. With the shop all but empty, an elderly woman poring over her paper and a cappuccino sitting by the windows, Craig in the back, Clyde decided it was time for phase two. He rounded the counter, crossing over from the employee area to the customer area, and clasped his hands behind his back, putting on a casual air. He went up to the woman first and greeted her. She looked up with a confused smile. He asked if he could get her anything else and put on his best Good Kid face, the one that won over all his friends' moms growing up. The customer chuckled and shooed him off, thanking him anyway.

At the register, Tweek was alternating vibrating in place and flagging Clyde down like he was landing an airplane. Clyde grinned at him as he crossed over to the other side of the shop and approached Craig.

"Hey, Craig," Clyde said. The thunderous typing hesitated, but Craig kept his head down, only his eyes sliding up. They didn't look impressed to see Clyde. "How you holdin' up over here? Anything else I can grab you?"

"No...thanks," Craig muttered, returning his attention and flying fingers to his computer.

"No? Glass of water or something? Water's free, just so you know."

Craig ran his tongue across the front of his upper teeth and paused his work again, actually tilting his head to look up at Clyde this time. "No...thanks," he repeated, only this time it sounded less like a bored answer with afterthought politeness and more like he was enunciating. The block eyebrow scale thudded definitively into  _annoyed_. 

Dang. Swing and a miss. This guy was kind of a douche. Clyde was just trying to be nice and a good host.

But Clyde was a professional, and he kept his smile up. He was just about to say, "Oh, okay," and report back to Tweek that he could do better, when Craig added, "Besides, doesn't the other guy do drinks?"

It caught Clyde off-guard, and he stuttered in place of a normal response.

"The skittish guy," Craig said, tilting his head towards the counter, "with the green eyes. I heard him telling you to get away from the coffee once." Something that might have been a smile quirked on Craig's face, and unlike Bebe's charming laugh, this time Clyde was quite sure he was being mocked.

"Tweek's the master barista," Clyde agreed, "but I can manage water."

Craig snorted. "I'm good," he said, returning to his computer once again. Clyde sensed that this was a final farewell, but maybe not as douchey as he'd thought. Kind of awkward, even. His robot suspicions increased.

On his return trip to the register, it occurred to Clyde that Tweek's eyes were a weird thing to notice. "Skittish," yes, but if he were going to pluck one physical detail as the one that best defined Tweek, it would be the wild shock of bright blond hair, or maybe the sunken bags under his eyes. Which weren't even a particularly bright green. From far away, they looked more hazel-y, even light brown. You'd have to be paying really close attention to pick up on that.

Oh ho. What have we here? Interest. And Clyde hadn't even started working his magic yet. When he passed the register, Tweek was shaking in his direction. Clyde flashed him a grin and a big ol' wink that had Tweek squawking in anxiety, turning away and pulling at his hair.

The Brew Bros were two for two today. And Clyde had a plan for tomorrow, too.


	3. Chapter 3

After witnessing Clyde's train wreck of an opening move, Tweek was pretty surprised to see that Bebe now acknowledged him every day when she came in. While she was waiting for her coffee or leaving with it in hand, Bebe would wave to the pastry counter and ask if Clyde were getting any better at his poetry. Serving up lemon bars and croissants, Clyde would call out his weird poems to her.

"Smooth and rich like night—Falling over the city—That is our dark roast," he said in a voice that suggested he thought his words insightful. Bebe laughed and toasted him with her order.

"Not bad, not bad."

This continued for a week. Tweek told Clyde over and over again that haiku was more than just seventeen syllables, that nature and juxtaposition were involved, but Clyde shook his head. "Dude. I'm funny and charming. Let the master do his thang, okay?"

"Please stop trying to set me up with Craig," Tweek pleaded. "I can't have you talking to him like this."

"Huh." Clyde blinked. "You know, haiku wasn't the strategy I was going with, but I think I can whip up some sick beats for your man."

"Oh,  _Jesus_!"

What exactly Clyde's strategy with Craig was, Tweek couldn't say. Every time Craig came in, Clyde tried to chat him up at the pastry counter, then would wander over to his table sometime later. Craig engaged with him a little more every day, and Tweek wondered if they were building up some sort of rapport. He had to admit that Clyde was really good at befriending customers, which was pretty key in a competitive setting like the coffee shop industry. Not that Clyde was the type of person to scheme friendship like that; guilt spiked Tweek's heart when he realized what he was thinking.

Around lunchtime one day, just before the window Craig usually came into the shop, Clyde pulled Tweek aside. "Listen, I want to test the water a little. Make eye contact with him when he passes you." Clyde waggled his eyebrows. "Friendly eye contact, not 'I'm an ax murderer and you're my next victim' eye contact."

Tweek resented the advice. His whole life people had been telling him to make more eye contact, like that wasn't an insane amount of pressure. He could manage the suitable amount of eye contact with customers, and once he knew people it was no problem, but prolonged eye contact with strangers? It was one of many reasons making new friends was hard. If he didn't have Clyde, his circle of friends would be even smaller.

Maybe a little of that resentment came from the fact that all Tweek had to do was step away from his register for a second, and now Clyde and Bebe traded poems every morning, but it had been like a week since their agreement and all Clyde had for him was giving him the same advice his mother had pressured him with his whole life. 

Clyde knew what he was like, though, and how hard it was for him. They'd been friends since preschool. Tweek was just going to have to trust that his friend knew what he was doing. When Craig came in a few minutes later, Tweek kept an eye on him. He went up to the pastry counter, chatted with Clyde (or maybe it was more accurate to say "received Clyde's chatter"), and took his usual lemon bar. When Craig turned towards the coffee counter to pass it on his way to a table in the back, Tweek fought his instinct to look away and pretend to be busy. He was more than a little surprised that Craig's eyes cut right to him, and after suppressing a squeak, Tweek forced a smile to his face, feeling his lips trembling with the effort. Craig paused for half a breath holding his gaze, then looked away and quickly strode past him towards his table.

Tweek dropped his eyes down to his register. It stung more than it should have. After not even a month of finding his attention drifting to this particular customer, magnetized to his blue eyes and cool demeanor, Tweek should have been able to shake off his unprofessional crush and get back to work. It was as hard as making eye contact. He hadn't even said anything, had barely done anything, and received such an undeniable rejection. He wanted to hide in the back storage room and let Kyle take over until Craig left.

"He likes you," Clyde whispered from behind him. Tweek jumped, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his shout of surprise. Whirling around, he shot Clyde a look, knowing his face was red and not trusting his voice not to crack if he said anything. Clyde's eyes glittered with triumph. "I knew it."

"What part of his, ngh, turning and running away from me like,  _geh!_ Like I'm somekindoflepersuggested _that_?"

"Dude's awkward ay-eff," Clyde said, and it took a second for Tweek to translate his text-speak and register that he was saying letters and not a word. "Tryin' to be all stealthy, checkin' out the cute barista, cute barista smiles at him, and he panics. He acts all cool, but he's a huge nerdlord loser who can't talk to people he likes."

Clyde snickered, which snowballed into his trademark belly laugh, and Tweek had to shush him repeatedly and finally cover Clyde's mouth with his own hands.

"Go talk to him," Clyde said. Tweek squawked his refusal. "No, dude, relax. I've been feeling him out all week and I'm, like, ninety-five percent positive the reason he never gets anything to drink is because he can't talk to you. Because he's a nerd." His nostrils flared with amusement, and Tweek shushed him preemptively. "Also, he noticed the color of your eyes, which, like, wow."

"Clyde,  _please_ shut up."

"Here." Clyde bustled around Tweek and poured a glass of ice water, which he promptly shoved in Tweek's hands. "Go offer this on the house, or whatever." To make up for his lack of eloquence, presumably, Clyde waggled his eyebrows again. Tweek tried sputtering that water was free and it wasn't really on the house, but Clyde cut him off. "It's an ice breaker, dude. Once you say hi, just ask him about himself. Where he's from, what he does for fun, if he's into blonds. You know. Whatever feels right."

Tweek thought seriously about jerking his hand up and splashing Clyde in the face with the ice water. He had to be out of his mind if he thought Tweek was capable of breaking the ice.

"Dude, come on. Worst case scenario, you get kind of awkward and have to retreat. Just come back here, and I'll work on a plan B. But I don't think you're going to need it. I feel pretty good about plan A."

So Tweek found himself delivering a complimentary glass of free water. He inched out from behind the coffee side of the counter praying that Stan and Kyle, chatting down at the pastry end, didn't notice. Craig was the only customer in the shop at the moment, so there wasn't much else to look at. He skittered up to Craig's table from behind. The lace of one of his Converse flapped against the side of his foot, and his stomach churned with regret at not taking Clyde's advice to lace them the slip-on way instead of insisting on tying them. He was terrible at the whole bunny ears over and under thing. Why did he insist on tying them? He was probably going to trip and send ice water all over Craig's fancy laptop, and it would fry and he'd lose all his work, and—

He reached Craig's table.

Before he lost his nerve, Tweek set the glass of water down on the table by the half-eaten lemon bar, a safe distance from the Macbook. Craig's fingers jerked to a sudden stop on his keyboard.

"Thought you might want something to drink," Tweek managed. "The lemon bars are good, but they kind of stick to the roof of your mouth." He exhaled what he hoped was a natural little laugh. Craig looked up at the glass, then ducked his head back down.

"...Thank you," he said. It was the first verbal exchange they'd ever had. Tweek hovered for a second, feeling increasingly awkward; Craig didn't say anything further but also wasn't returning to his typing. What was it Clyde had said? Ask him about himself.

"What are you working on?" Tweek asked. He side-stepped so it didn't look like he was spying over Craig's shoulder, and Craig's dark eyes cautiously lifted to meet his. "It sounds like you're writing a lot! Are you...nng...working on a book?"

Craig's lips barely parted when he answered, "...I am." 

Even though he'd posed the question, Tweek hadn't been expecting that answer. "Ngh, really? Wow, but you're so young." Amusement flickered across Craig's face, and Tweek's stomach tightened. "Or you—ngh, gah—you look young, I mean, you could be fortyandIjustcouldn'ttell." Oh, Jesus, this was exactly why he hadn't wanted to come over.

Craig exhaled through his nose what sounded like a laugh. "Thanks, I think. I'm twenty-three."

Only a year older than Tweek. Or maybe they could've been in the same grade growing up. "So you  _are_ young!" Craig nose-laughed again, but he crossed his arms along the edge of his table, not looking like he was in any rush to get back to typing. "What's your book about?"

"Space," Craig said. "It's an expansion of my senior thesis. I'm working on a book compiling research on supernovas and ultraviolet radiation."

"Oh! Gosh, that sounds intense. A supernova is..." Tweek gulped. "It's when a star explodes, right?"

"Yep." Craig's dark blue eyes lit up, glittering like a galaxy all their own. "You know, scientists learn so much about our universe from supernovas. Did you know that a bunch of elements right here on Earth are made up of the cores of stars that underwent supernovas?"

"R-Really? So, iron and sapphires and those...they're, ngh, made up of, like, star hearts?"

Craig smiled crookedly. "Something like that."

A few minutes more and Tweek was sitting across from Craig at his table. Then Craig was shutting his laptop, and he was babbling about stars and the expanding universe and the Milky Way. When Tweek had covertly admired him before it was for his appearance of standoffish composure, but now he could see some truth in Clyde's evaluation. Craig  _was_ kind of a nerd. Tweek almost thought it unfair that he could be both coolly handsome and adorably nerdy, but then he supposed he couldn't complain because this impossible guy was paying full attention to Tweek.

Along the way Craig did have to stop and take a drink from the water Tweek had brought over, and a quick peek at the clock behind the register shocked Tweek with the information that he'd been talking to Craig for nearly an hour. More customers were starting to trickle in. When Craig put down his glass, Tweek shrugged bashfully.

"I...should probably get back to work," he said. The boyish excitement that had dominated Craig's expression while he talked about space folded back in on itself, returning to his typical unreadable expression. Only the hitch of his eyebrows betrayed another emotion flickering behind the mask.

"Sorry for...keeping you from your work," he said, his voice coming down from its astronomy high. "And for...talking nonstop the whole time."

"Oh, I don't mind that!" Tweek laughed. "It was all very interesting. The next time you're here and it's quiet like this, I want to hear more." Craig's eyes locked onto his like lasers, and Tweek backpedaled. "I mean, geh, I don't want to distractyoufromyourwriting, I mean, ngh, I'm glad that our shop is agoodworkingenvironmentforyou, and I don't want to—"

"I like talking to you," Craig said bluntly. "Next time I can listen to you talk instead. Okay?"

Clyde was insufferable for the rest of the afternoon. Tweek kept catching him shooting knowing looks from the pastry side of the counter, waggling his eyebrows and puckering his lips. When Craig meandered out of the coffee shop sometime during the three-thirty rush but paused long enough to nod to Tweek before ducking out, Tweek suspected all that was keeping Clyde from bounding over was the long line of customers.

Sure enough, at quarter of six when the business hours were winding down and Kyle and Stan had left, Clyde was by his side grinning like a madman. "Soooo," he teased, "how'd it go?"

"Fine," Tweek said loftily. Clyde whooped anyway and slapped Tweek's back so hard he nearly knocked him off-balance.

"I told you I'd come through for you, dude! Brew bros for liiiiife!"

Their laughter cut short when the door opened, announcing one last customer before they closed up shop for the night. When they looked up, Bebe was standing at the door. In place of her pristine uniform she wore a red sweater and black jeans with boots, a black jacket folded over her arm. Her curly hair was loose from its usual bun, spiraling over her shoulders, and in place of the strawberry lip balm Tweek sometimes smelled when she came up to the register, she wore lipstick as fire engine red as her sweater. Clyde's bravado disappeared into a stifled squeak, and Tweek chuckled in validation.

"Okay, how about this," Bebe said with a wide grin. "My shift is over—The coffee shop is closing—Want to go somewhere?"


	4. Chapter 4

With Tweek's assurance that he could manage locking up on his own, Clyde followed Bebe out of the coffee shop. Before the door had even fully closed behind them, Bebe reached for his hand, lacing their fingers. Clyde gulped loudly enough that she turned and quirked an eyebrow at him. He returned her confident grin with a shaky one of his own.

"Gosh, Officer, should I be worried?" he asked, injecting as much bravado as possible into his voice.

"Only if you're intimidated by a lady in charge. Which,"—she started walking and Clyde followed, their interlocked hands swinging between them—"I assume you aren't, since you've done all your flirting while I'm in uniform."

Heat rose to Clyde's face. "You were onto me, huh?" He only asked half-seriously, pleased that she had him figured out and still went with it. Bebe snorted.

"Yeah, but I figured I'd better take the initiative if I wanted to avoid another week-and-a-half of exchanging poetry instead of numbers."

Clyde flushed again; he had, in fact, been planning to move into his next phase after three successful weeks of charming poetry. "So, where are you whisking me off to?"

Bebe hummed noncommittally. "You'll see."

They ended up at a food truck for grilled cheese sandwiches, then wandered around downtown watching shoppers and commuters scuttling in and out of the evening shadows. Off of the main drag, a blanket of quiet covered Denver, and a familiar chill in the air promised snow in the near future. Careful at first but soon forgetting to shield his mouth while he talked in case of any delicious-but-not-cute grilled cheese being stuck in his teeth, Clyde answered Bebe's questions about moving to Denver from a small mountain town and what it was like co-running a coffee shop. He asked her about herself as well.

"What made you join the force?" he asked. Bebe licked buttered crumbs from her fingers before answering.

"I was bullied for about a year when I was younger," she said. "Like nine or ten? I was the first girl in my class to mature, and when boys started noticing me, it kind of alienated me from the other girls. Even my best friend said terrible things about me, just because I got a training bra first." She looked up at a lamplight they passed under. "And on top of that, the boys who noticed me were just interested in me because my body was changing. They didn't really value anything I thought or said. It felt like being a prize to be won, you know?"

"That sucks," Clyde agreed, immediately sure that his response was inadequate. Bebe gave him a little smile anyway, like she understood that was the best he could offer.

"So I wanted to go into a job where people would see how smart and strong I am, and where I'd take out bad guys and bullies. I never want to feel as small as I was made to feel back then again. I don't want anyone to feel like that."

Holding hands was the best. There was a slight callus to her fingers, undoubtedly from training and her work, and a sureness in her grip. Yet Clyde wasn't sure he'd ever felt as warm and fuzzy as he did with Bebe's hand twined in his. Clyde prided himself on giving the best hugs; Tweek, Token, and Jimmy all agreed. So, he decided, Bebe must be the best at hand-holding. 

Eventually they looped their way back to Sweet Tweak's, and Clyde realized their evening was wrapping up. Reluctant to allow that, he asked, "What made you ask me out?"

"You seem like a nice guy, and I figured we could go out faster if _I_ asked _you_." She bumped her hip against his, so he knew she was teasing.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I had a very smooth plan set up."

"Oh, I'm sure," Bebe agreed, batting her eyes. "But you were so cute, I just couldn't wait." Delighted, Clyde stuttered and rubbed his neck. Bebe laughed again, her hideous snort that went right to Clyde's heart. "Hey, give me your phone. I'll put my number in it."

"Sweet." He handed it over and watched her type in her number. Then she called herself from his phone and added his number to her address book. When she handed Clyde's phone back to him, he checked the screen to see his new contact: "Bebe!" Exclamation point and everything. So. Freaking. Cute.

"No, seriously," Clyde said, suddenly shy. "What made you want to go out with me?"

Bebe's dark eyes flickered up from her phone, a little smile curling her lips. "Seriously," she said, "you're a nice guy, Clyde. And very cute. I always appreciate kindness, and I never lie about cuteness."

They lived in opposite directions and parted at the coffee shop. Clyde was sure he was grinning like a goofball. When he arrived at his apartment, he pulled out his phone and texted Bebe:  _I've safely arrived/at my comfy apartment/miss you already._

A minute later, his phone buzzed its reply:  _Keep talking like that/and before you realize/you'll have a girlfriend._

They texted haiku all night.

Usually Tweek was the one to open up the shop in the morning, but since Clyde was up, he arrived first. Then he realized that since Tweek was the the one who opened, he had the only set of keys. Twenty minutes later, Tweek walked up, shaking like his own personal earthquake.

"Gah! Why are youherealready?"

"Dude." Clyde had been wide awake all night texting Bebe, but now his eyelids were impossibly heavy. "I need coffee. You're my only hope."

Tweek opened the store, turned on the lights, and whipped up a mocha coffee—the only kind sweet enough for Clyde's tastes—while Clyde filled him in on every detail of his date. Tweek was a good listener, encouraging Clyde along with little hums or occasional squeaks, and laughing or smiling at all the right places. By the time Clyde was wrapping up, Kyle and Stan were arriving, and it was nearly time to open.

"Okay, so," Clyde said, jittery from the dessert coffee. "Since I dished all my deets, you have to fill me in as soon as you and Mr. Roboto do anything fun."

"Mister— _gah!_ —Who? Fun? What? Oh, _Jesus_ —"

"Clyde, we haven't even opened yet," Kyle said with a sigh. "What did you say to him?"

"I was telling him about my date last night," Clyde started.

"Hot cop lady?" Stan guessed. Kyle smacked his arm, but Clyde grinned wildly.

"And since I told him about my date, I said it was only fair that he tells me everything when he goes out on his date."

"Socially-inept writer guy?" Kyle guessed. Stan spread his arms as if to say,  _Oh, it's okay when_ you _do it?_

"If we go out, ngh, you'll bethefirsttoknow," Tweek said, yanking on his hair. Clyde threw his arms up in victory.

"Brew bros! Two for two!" Clyde reached out for Tweek's wrist and held it so he could high five him. Tweek squeaked, but he smiled, so Clyde knew he was cool.

"Hey," Stan said, "there are four of us."

"True!" Clyde rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We'll have to set you guys up, too."

"Stan has a girlfriend," Kyle said, practically tattling.

"Yeah," Stan drawled, "and Kyle has—"

"Shut _up_ , Stan."

Clyde gasped. "Dude. Kyle. Tweek and I are, like, basically matchmaking pros. You point out your heart's desire, and we're on it like whipped cream on hot chocolate."

"Clyde, that's waytoomuchpressure,  _gah_!"

"I don't need help getting a date," Kyle said, flitting to his register and getting ready like a responsible employee.

"He really doesn't. Are you guys new?" Stan jumped up to sit on the counter, not particularly like a responsible employee.

"That's not what I meant, Stan."

"No, but I'm not wrong, Kyle."

Customers interrupted the bickering, and Stan slid off the counter to join Clyde on the pastry side for the morning rush. Bebe arrived right on schedule, looking every bit as put-together as Clyde was sure he wasn't. She ordered a large coffee for a change and toasted Clyde with a wink before she headed out. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket.  _What are your thoughts on/going for a walk tonight/maybe holding hands?_ He texted back seventeen yeses.

Just after lunch, Craig showed up, right on schedule. Not at all on schedule, in fact a first, he bypassed the pastry counter altogether and went up to Tweek's register. They had some quiet exchange, Tweek rang something up, and Craig paid. Craig went off to his usual table and Tweek fixed a cup of herbal tea and a cup of coffee.

"Where are  _you_ going?" Clyde teased when Tweek slipped his apron over his head and dropped it near his register.

"On break," Tweek answered, a smile skewing across his face. He took a cup in either hand, heading for the table where Craig had conspicuously not opened his laptop.

"Wait, wait, wait," Clyde said. Tweek paused and glanced over at him. Clyde lifted a fist. "Brew bros."

Huffing a sigh that didn't sound in the least bit put out, Tweek tapped the knuckles of the hand holding his coffee against Clyde's outstretched fist, not an ideal bump, but good enough for Clyde.

"Brew bros," he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to you readers & reviewers, as always! Your kind words motivate me to write stories I hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> Now that I've gotten some fluff out of my system, what say we return to killer guinea pigs? :-) Darkest Night updates will resume next week!


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